


If Anyone Asks...

by Kat_Rowe



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley always knows when Aziraphale is in trouble, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Female Crowley (Good Omens), Friendship, Friendship/Love, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Historical, Huddling For Warmth, Naked Cuddling, Other, Platonic Cuddling, empathic Aziraphale, first time flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:25:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23380126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat_Rowe/pseuds/Kat_Rowe
Summary: What was supposed to be a relaxing boat-trip from Southampton to New York doesn’t go too well. Fortunately for Aziraphale, it suits the purposes of a certain demon to keep him alive and well.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 68





	If Anyone Asks...

**Author's Note:**

> My reading of the series (especially ep 3) is that Crowley is gender-fluid, and our favorite demon is female for the duration of this fic. 
> 
> Takes place mid-April, 1912, after the ship Aziraphale was on at the time sank.
> 
> Many thanks to Vicky for betaing; any remaining mistakes are entirely my own. 
> 
> And, because it comes up at one point, from Merrian-Webster:
> 
> Foment (v): to promote the growth or development of  
> Fomentation (n): the application of hot moist substances to the body to ease pain

It was too dark to see, or maybe he just couldn’t open his eyes any more. Aziraphale bobbed in the water, not sure if he’d been there seconds or hours, not aware of much at all except the deaths occurring all around him. The empathic shock of even one death was difficult enough to cope with, but hundreds upon hundreds in such short order had him gasping for breath. Or maybe it was the cold water that had him gasping? No, he decided as another life slipped away nearby. It was definitely the repeated explosions of numb, empty silence making it hard to breathe, or even to really remember how or why he’d ended up here.

Too drained to do much else, he thought back and remembered, as if in another life, the ship. Wonderful food, excellent music, and thousands of happy, optimistic people. His job had been simple enough: “tempting people to virtue” as always. Heaven must have known what had been in store, but he’d certainly never gotten the memo. And wondering if he could have changed anything hurt almost as much as feeling all those human souls slipping away.

“Angel, what on Earth?”

The soft voice was familiar, but he was too exhausted and gutted to try to place it.

“Trust you to take things entirely too far,” the voice chided, then he felt strong-but-delicate hands grasping his shoulders and hauling him up out of the water.

He was, abruptly, staggering for balance as he found his feet on solid ground and his body no longer buoyed by the salty water. The hands supported him from behind, keeping him upright while he struggled to regain his equilibrium. And then, abruptly, he found himself gasping for breath again and shaking violently, almost convulsing as his body realized he might actually survive and struggled to restore itself to a viable temperature. 

“Easy, easy!” the familiar voice hissed in his ear as he was lowered to the ground and swiftly stripped of his wet, half-frozen suit and underthings. Wide yellow eyes, framed by ginger waves of hair, stared down at him as too-warm hands roughly rubbed his aching skin. “You’re like ice. Idiot.”

“Crowley?” he realized, struggling to focus on the demon. 

The world shifted abruptly again, and it felt as if he’d been splashed with boiling water. His skin was warming with painful speed, and the air was hot and stiflingly thick with moisture. He shook harder, body overwhelmed by multiple physical shocks in such quick succession, and his vision faded. Blessedly, so did his pain. 

When he came around, the pain was bearable enough to let him take in other facts of his surroundings. The air was still far too hot and humid and, despite that, he was laying under multiple blankets. Laying on his side, naked and not alone. Behind him, a hot body was pressed close, contoured to his. The layer of silk he felt in places told him that the body was not quite naked, which was an undeniable relief. The person pressing against his back was lanky, with small firm breasts, and the long arm thrown carelessly over his chest and so relaxed as to be almost jointless could only belong to Crowley. The demon, or demoness at the moment, was breathing slowly and evenly, clearly asleep. 

Biting his lip, he remained still, glancing around the room. It was a bedroom, obviously, with shaded windows projecting out from the walls and a bamboo fan hanging from the ceiling. Clearly a room in a house designed specifically for the tropical climate they were in. Somewhere in Asia. His clothes were nowhere in sight, but a black evening-gown was draped over a chair by the desk, and potted plants abounded. A gecko, walking up the stalk of one of the plants, stopped and stared at him for a moment, blinking gravely before continuing its journey. Outside he could hear faint voices in what he thought was Hindi, so the bungalow must have been fully-staffed.

What was Crowley doing with a bungalow in India? Or did it even belong to Crowley? Was it on loan? Had it just been appropriated for this purpose? Behind him, he felt her stir, and wondered if he should take his leave before any awkwardness arose.

“You’re warmer now. Good,” she mumbled, voice throaty with sleep but still undeniably feminine despite the relatively low pitch. “I was worried.”

He bit his lip at that. Easing away and swinging his feet over the edge of the bed, he sat up. “Where are we?”

“Just a little getaway of mine,” she told him, sitting up as well. Silence stretched between them for some time before she noted, “It’s been years.” 

“Decades, hasn’t it?” he answered, slowly turning to face her.

She wasn’t indecently attired, although some people might have thought otherwise. Her red silk slip showed off her arms, shoulders, and an amount of cleavage that would have made the average Englishman choke. She had freckles; he hadn’t known that before. Her legs were still under the blanket, and he did his best not to venture any guesses about how much flesh was exposed there. Not that it mattered much. He had seen Crowley entirely naked before, in both male and female aspects, though not for centuries. But it was different when they were sitting in a bed together.  
  
Which was a ridiculous human prejudice, but not one he could entirely shake. 

They hadn’t seen each other since that day in St. James’s Park when Crowley had requested Holy water. Aziraphale had done his best not to think about whether the demon had made any subsequent attempts to get hold of any, or of what might happen if she did. Despite the awkwardness and confusion of the current situation, it was a relief to see Crowley in one piece. Such a relief that something unsettlingly warm and fluttery was happening in the angel’s chest.

“I… I’m sorry I stormed off,” he told her, not sure what else to say. 

“I could have broached the topic better, eased you into it. I never meant to upset you, and I never planned on harming myself,” she answered simply, shrugging. 

“I should have realized that. I was just… well, I’ve seen what Holy water does to demons. It scared me, thinking of something like that happening to you.”

She started to smile, then frowned, yellow eyes flashing and a soft hiss escaping her. 

“Crowley,” he protested, biting his lip at her sudden change in mood.

“You were scared? How do you think I felt, finding you within an inch of discoporating?” she demanded in a harsh whisper.

“I didn’t mean… I didn’t _plan_ …”

“You didn’t plan. You didn’t think! What were you doing, bobbing around in the middle of the Atlantic ocean surrounded by dead people?”

He sighed at that, wincing a little at the physical impact of his memories the night before. “I… it took me by surprise.” 

“Really? Because I hear it took that ship hours to sink!”

“It did,” he sighed, looking away. The demon’s anger, and her worry, were palpable, and a very precise reminder of how he’d felt that day in the park. “I… People were afraid! I couldn’t leave them alone while it was happening.”

She looked ready to argue, but obviously changed her mind, merely asking, “And after?”

“I was shocked. So many people died so quickly. I hadn’t felt anything like that in thousands of years and it… I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t _think_. I heard Maggie in one of the life-boats. She was trying to save people. And then everything suddenly seemed so far away.” 

It had been a relief to feel that first life being saved, the almost-painful snap of a retreating soul being pulled violently back into its own body. But, after that, despite the hope and joy of it, the continuing death had swamped his awareness, drowning out everything else, including his ability to think and act. At that point, even if he’d tried, he probably would not have been able to manage the kind of miracle he’d have needed to save himself. If Crowley hadn’t shown up…

“You keep saving my life.”

“Well, nothing wrong with having a powerful angel owing you a favor, is there?” she asked with a grin, picking up a pillow and hugging it to her chest. 

“No, I suppose there isn’t. I won’t say I’m grateful, of course,” he told her.

“No, of course not,” she agreed, spreading both arms wide and giving a little shrug. Her arms had freckles, too. And, he noticed for the first time, her chest. What had she been up to, to get that much sun over that much of her body?

Azitaphale cleared his throat, pushing aside those thoughts. He was fond of the demon and, sometimes, it was easier to stay fond of a person without knowing too much about what they got up to in their free time. Time to change the subject.  
  
“I was in the middle of nowhere, and you certainly weren’t on that ship. How did you _know_?” 

She stared down at the pillow in her lap, drawing her lower lip between her teeth and chewing on it a few times before telling him, “I felt it. You. When someone comes that close to leaving a body they’ve been in for that long, even someone with the empathic abilities of a rock would be able to sense it from the other side of the world.”

“You felt me dying from here?” he asked, staring at her with wide eyes. 

Yes, Crowley had showed up to rescue him before last night, but to be aware of Aziraphale’s well-being from that far away? Even he would have been hard-pressed to do that, and he was unusually empathic even for a Principality.

For some reason, the skin of Crowley’s chest and throat began to color. “Was the food good?” she asked abruptly. “I’ve heard that White Star has amazing catering.”

“I’ve had worse meals in some of the finest restaurants in London. And the _eclairs_ …” He moaned at the memory, wetting his lips. Then he sighed because the pastry chef had been a lovely young man with a family back home.

“I’m sure you did what you could,” Crowley told him, leaning forward and grasping his shoulder. “Even if you couldn’t save any lives, I’m sure you saved quite a few souls.”

“I think so. I hope so.” He smiled weakly at her, grateful for the comfort. “Why India?”

“Because I’m always cold. Why else?”

“No fomenting?” 

“Well, if we’re using the other meaning, I often soak my feet in a warm herbal bath. So, as far as Head Office is concerned, I am definitely engaging in a great deal of fomentation,” she informed him with a grin and a wink.

Aziraphale chuckled at that, unable to resist. No matter the era, location, or circumstance, Crowley’s irreverence always cheered his heart a bit. But her mention of Head Office brought reality back in.

“I should probably go before anyone finds out you’ve saved my life. Again.”

“Don’t be silly. I only did it as part of my ploy.”

“Your ploy?” he repeated, biting his lip.

“Absolutely, angel. If anyone asks, this is clearly all just an elaborate attempt to seduce you.”

“Oh,” he whispered, squirming a bit. His stomach squirmed, too. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it was definitely not something he should be allowing himself to experience.

“Couldn’t you tell? Secluded tropical retreat, cozy bed, nudity.” 

Clearing his throat and squirming worse, he asked, “Speaking of which, where _are_ my clothes?”

Crowley gave a low, throaty laugh at that, the kind of laugh that even an eternally-celibate angel could recognize as sensual. But, before Aziraphale could panic, she shook her head.

“They were covered in salt-water. I had the servants launder them.”

“Oh, Thank you,” he answered, fidgeting and wondering what to say next.

“They’ll bring them in with morning tea,” Crowley provided, yawning and stretching.

Aziraphale had always considered the demon’s stretches to be very snakelike. Today she seemed more catlike than anything. Still graceful, sinuous, and strangely hypnotic, but now as if she actually had the right number of joints, and in the right places, too. Biting his lip, the angel looked away, glancing at the window. 

After a moment, Crowley slid from the bed, easing past him and crossing the room. And Aziraphale was forced to rethink his evaluation of her state of dress. Definitely a bit indecent. He hadn’t been aware that slips that short existed. Clearing his throat, he tried to find yet somewhere else to look as she stepped behind a changing-screen in the corner.

Wrapping a blanket around his waist, he climbed to his feet, walking to one of the windows and peering outside. People going about their business, children running and playing, wildlife and livestock everywhere. Smiling at all the activity, he closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, letting it all wash over him. The air might have been unspeakably humid, but it was still incredibly refreshing. 

“Does it help?” Crowley’s voice asked from directly behind him, and he felt her hand gently come to rest on his shoulder. 

“Yes,” he whispered, nodding faintly. “The whole place is so full of life.” 

“Then I’m glad I brought you here, even if my servants now think I’m some kind of unspeakable harlot.” 

He bit his lip at that. “What did they say? I mean, it can’t be every day that a half-frozen Englishman appears in the middle of the compound.” 

“They don’t ask questions. Not since the one time I actually answered a few.” 

He bit his lip at that, hoping his friend wasn’t getting overconfident about her own invulnerability. Then again, Crowley was the one who kept saving _his_ life…

Still. “You _are_ being careful, aren’t you?” he asked, turning to face her. 

He felt his eyes widen and it took a real effort of will to keep his mouth from falling open. He’d always been one to appreciate beauty in all things, and Crowley was _stunning_ right now. Pale face framed with ginger curls, citrine eyes large and bright, she presented a striking figure. Instead of a normal dress, she wore a saree, wrapped and draped more elaborately and with more care than a Roman Senatorial toga. Trust Crowley to never wear anything without wearing it stylishly. It was nothing like the bright, airy sarees worn by the local women, though. This one was, in keeping with Crowley’s usual aesthetic, was dark: a grey so deep and rich that it might as well have been black, with vividly-red embroidery along the borders. Except for her left shoulder and arm, she was covered from the neck down, but the wrap was far too form-fitting to be called modest. Still, as was so often the case with Crowley, it was strangely, perversely... _classy_. 

She was beautiful enough to take his breath away a little, and that was unnerving.

_This is clearly all just an elaborate attempt to seduce you._

He didn’t believe Crowley ever would, of course, but he found himself unnervingly aware of how graceful and shapely she was. Not that he’d ever failed to take note of Crowley’s slim and athletic build, or easy and confident movements, but this was entirely different. Always before, in every era and nation, regardless of gender, Crowley’s garments had done little to draw attention to the demon’s natural build. But the saree, intentionally or otherwise, drew the eye and made it impossible to ignore what was underneath it. 

And taking note of _that_ was a sure path to one of the few Deadly Sins with which Aziraphale had not even dabbled before. 

“Why are you staring at me?” Crowley asked, frowning. 

“Was I?” he asked, clearing his throat and smiling apologetically. “Sorry. It’s just not a style I’ve seen you in before. We’ve spent so many centuries in Britain...”

She eyed him a little dubiously, then shrugged and turned towards the door. “The maid’s late with our tea. And your clothes. I’ll see if I can find her.”

“You do look lovely,” he murmured to her back, biting his lip. “It suits you very well.”

She froze at his words, stopping and tensing slightly, drawing herself up to her full height. Then, snorting and grinning, she turned to face him, teasing, “What would _you_ know about what suits a woman, angel?”

He bit his lip at that, clearing his throat and trying not to fidget. “Well, I have seen a great many paintings. I would assume that they’re intended to represent some sort of ideal…”

Crowley’s eyes widened and she snorted softly, covering her mouth with both hands and shaking her head.

It was Aziraphale’s turn to laugh and he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer as he asked, “What?”

Grinning, eyes sparkling, she stepped closer, lowering her voice and asking, “Did you just imply that I’m… _ideal_ in some way?”

Oh, dear! Had he done that? He swallowed hard, clearing his throat. “Well… I mean… that is to say... from a purely aesthetic standpoint…”

“Relax. It’s all right,” she laughed, patting his shoulder. “I know you didn’t mean to actually compliment me. It’s not your fault. I’ve had thousands of years of practice tempting the pure-minded.” 

“I wasn’t tempted!” he protested, sputtering. 

“No. No, of course you weren’t,” Crowley laughed, smirking and taking a step closer. 

He gulped and took a step back, yelping a little as he bumped into the wall. Which was mortifying enough even before he heard a giggle from the direction of the door. Biting his lip and glancing in that direction, he saw two young women standing in the doorway, one carrying a tea tray and the other holding his neatly-folded suit. Both were grinning, and the younger of the two kept tittering as if she’d never seen anything funnier than a naked man wrapped in a blanket being menaced by a beautiful woman. 

Crowley turned to face them, quietly speaking what must have been their language and gesturing to her desk. The two hurried over, placing down their burdens and continuing to cast sideways glances at Aziraphale as they left. 

“Don’t mind them,” she told Aziraphale, walking over and picking up the teapot. “I don’t think they’ve ever seen a chest as pale as yours before.”

“It’s not _that_ pale,” he argued, almost automatically in an attempt to restore their usual level of banter.

“It really is,” she countered, smirking at him for a moment before turning her attention to the tea. “Get dressed, angel, before I decide to renew my attempts at seduction.”

Two courses were open to him, and retreat felt like it would have been admitting something, so he decided to tease instead. “Please, you’ve seen me naked. You know there’s nothing about me that could possibly be of any interest to a woman.”

She blinked at that, pursing her lips for a moment, then shaking her head. “Get dressed, angel,” she repeated more firmly.

Grumbling softly, he picked up his suit and retreated behind the changing screen, quickly pulling his clothes on and wondering why she had him so out of sorts today. Most likely, he was off-balance after the emotional shocks of last night. Yes, he decided, straightening his tie, that was almost certainly it. 

He took a few moments to center himself, then stepped out from behind the screen. Crowley was sitting perched on the edge of her bed, sipping her tea and looking lost in thought. When she saw him, she gestured to a second cup of tea on the desk.

“I think I’ve remembered how you take yours,” she told him. 

“Thank you.” He picked it up and sipped, making a soft noise of approval. She’d managed just the right balance of cream and sugar. “Perfect, thank you.”

“Any time.”

He sipped his tea, trying not to stare at her. Setting down the cup, he studied a leaf on one of her potted palms to distract himself, and to give him something to look at other than her as he asked, “Will you be coming back to London soon? It’s not the same without you.”

“No, I imagine it’s become quite the hotbed of virtue and goodness in my absence,” she teased, chuckling and climbing to her feet. 

Aziraphale shook his head at Crowley’s usual irreverence, biting his lip and grinning at her. “I have to perform all my own miracles! It’s almost unbearable.”

“Mmm, an angel, forced to do good deeds all by himself? Unthinkable,” she tsked. Moving to his side, she added, “It is good to see you again.”

“Yes, but you took a risk, saving me.” 

“I’m a demon, I like to live on the edge,” she pointed out. “Besides, we both know how much paperwork is involved in losing a perfectly serviceable body. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. Which you, naturally, are.”

“Oh, of course,” he agreed with mock gravity, nodding in agreement. 

“Besides, they’d have issued you a new body. I’m used to your silly old face. It would be a terrible inconvenience if I had to get used to a new one.”

He bit his lip at that, peripherally aware that this was probably not a safe conversation to be having, but not really caring. “Yes. Who knows what the new body would look like? Might not be half so enjoyable to try to seduce.”

She laughed softly at that and, unlike her previous laughs, there was nothing sultry or sensual about this one. It was a purely mirthful sound, and one that Aziraphale realized he’d been missing rather badly.

“Do come back to London soon,” he urged. “It’s been hard to find a remotely tolerable dining-companion in your absence.” 

“Well, if you insist. I do enjoy India, but the pace of life is a bit slow. It’s the weather, I imagine.” 

“Yes, even if the tea is very good.”

“The tea is excellent,” she agreed, “but I can have some imported. Besides, we both know you prefer wine.” 

He smiled in agreement and they lapsed into comfortable silence for a moment. That moment stretched into others, and they just stood enjoying each other’s company after their estrangement. But that was as dangerous in its own way as the earlier teasing had been, so he finally cleared his throat.

“I should get back. My bookstore won’t run itself.”

“No, it won’t. Not that it’s particularly lucrative even when you’re there. I’ll be along directly,” she promised, smiling warmly at him. “But remember, if anyone asks you, I brought you here to seduce you.”

He hesitated, then smiled back at Crowley, feeling far too fond of her and not caring in the least. Reaching for her hand, he lifted it to his lips, pressing them lightly to her smooth, warm skin for half a second before dropping it again. He knew he was blushing, but he did his best to pretend he wasn’t. 

“And, if anyone asks _you_ , I came very close to allowing myself to be tempted.” Crowley stared at him with wide eyes, and he felt shocked with his own presumption and flippancy. Clearing his throat, he took a quick step back, hoping his smile didn’t betray his nervousness and uncertainty. “I’ll see you in London,” he told her, and willed himself away.

It was cowardice, but sometimes discretion really was the better part of valor. For just a moment, her scent lingered in his nostrils, mainly smoke and some Eastern perfume, then the familiar and comforting smell of used books filled his awareness, coupled with the sounds of a busy London street outside. Sighing with something that was only partly relief, he shook himself and hurried over to a crate of books he hadn’t had time to sort through before the ship left harbor. 

He was a fool and a madman, playing with fire in a very real and very eternal sense, but it would be good to have Crowley back underfoot. He found himself quite looking forward to his friend’s renewed presence in his life.

**The End**


End file.
